


The Nutcracker Suit

by neevebrody



Category: Dawson's Creek, Thoughtcrimes
Genre: Crossover, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-27
Updated: 2007-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had an uncanny knack for knowing what turned Brendan on, what buttons to push and how to make Brendan do things he never thought he'd do, things he never thought he wanted to do. </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nutcracker Suit

**Author's Note:**

> This is fic featuring two separate and distinct characters portrayed by the same actor, Joe Flanigan. Brendan Dean from "Thoughtcrimes" and Vincent from "Dawson's Creek"

Brendan opened the door to the warm aroma of garlic. After all the sickeningly sweet goodies and stale sandwiches at the office party, he welcomed whatever Vincent had cooked for dinner. The television blared from the other room and as he walked through the kitchen, he stopped to lift one of the pot lids - Puttanesca sauce, and a box of pasta on the counter. Mmm, the smell was enticing and he supposed there were a few advantages to having an unemployed fisherman/jack of all trades living with you, especially ones that knew how to cook.

He stepped over to the archway between the kitchen and den. Vincent sat in the recliner watching TV, his body draped in the chair, one arm up over his head, and now there was another advantage. Vincent was gorgeous - tall, tanned, his body sculpted and hardened by years of hard work, dark hair like his own with that perpetual "windblown" look, and the most beautiful eyes Brendan had ever seen. One would call them hazel, but they changed according to Vincent's moods or what color shirt he was wearing. Beautiful but intense; they could render Brendan speechless or make him uneasy, seeming to see things even he himself didn't know were there. Oddly, Vincent was usually right about such things. He had an uncanny knack for knowing what turned Brendan on, what buttons to push and how to make Brendan do things he never thought he'd do, things he never thought he'd want to do. Yet, underneath all those good looks, Brendan had found a warm heart. He wondered now, and not for the first time, what somebody like Vincent saw in him.

"S'bout time you got home. You're not drunk are you?"

"Of course not," Brendan answered, leaning in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

Vincent turned to him and smiled, twisting something inside of him. Jesus, those smiles could light up a dark room, or melt cold steel, or any number of other clichés he didn't want to think about at the moment. "Damn good thing," Vincent said, suddenly looking serious. "Looking like that, if you were drunk you probably wouldn't have the willpower to fight anyone off."

"What are you talking about?" Brendan asked, genuinely bemused.

"Well, you know how those office Christmas parties are? Damn, look at you, that suit--"

Brendan face flushed hot. "You like my… suit?"

"Come over here." Vincent's voice was low and full of something that pulled at Brendan, low in his groin.

Even though it was December, Vincent sat there dressed in a pair of faded jeans and that roguish smile of his - nothing else. Brendan knew that look; it stirred something inside and made the blood rush to his cock.

Vincent picked up the remote, switched off the television and reached for Brendan, pulling him down onto his lap. Brendan carefully straddled him and bent to kiss him. When their lips met, it was like opening a circuit, electricity coursing between them, generating heat in Vincent's hands as they roamed over Brendan's thighs, underneath his jacket, over his back and finally, up the front of his shirt. When they reached his shoulders, Brendan felt the weight of the jacket fall across them and he held his arms back allowing it to fall to the floor.

"You look so good," Vincent said between kisses, "it's a shame you're gonna have to lose these clothes." He set to work on Brendan's tie. Their eyes locked as Vincent slowly began to untie the knot. "God, you're so hot like this Bren, so fucking hot... your crisp white shirts, all starched and stiff… silk ties… the cut of your trousers and the way they show off your ass… precise seams, everything perfect… even down to your laced wing tips… so proper, so staid… not at all like what's underneath, hot skin begging to be touched… begging to be licked…"

Brendan exhaled as the words shot straight to his cock. Vincent was pulling the tie from around his neck, slowly, pulling him down, too and Brendan welcomed the raspy scrub of Vincent's beard, the kiss slow this time and wicked hot. Then Vincent's hands were at his collar, unbuttoning his shirt, and as Brendan slid a hand across Vince's bare chest, he wished he would hurry - get him naked too, because Vincent could do things with his hands Brendan never thought possible, and his skin buzzed with anticipation.

Vincent broke the kiss when he reached the last button. Pulling the shirttail from Brendan's pants, he pushed it over his shoulders as well. Brendan sat back to undo the cuffs and let the shirt slip down over his wrists to join his jacket. Vincent tugged at his tee shirt, and Brendan tore it over his head and tossed it aside. Long, slender fingers crept over his now-bare chest, stopping to roll his nipples between them and he sighed heavily at the sharp sweetness.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" Vincent lifted his hips and urged Brendan closer. "I want you, Bren… want you now."

Brendan heard himself whimper as Vincent took his hand and placed it over his crotch. "Christ, Brendan, see what you do to me? My dick was hard the minute you walked through the door."

A deep shudder rippled through Brendan. Vincent's voice was fluid, like black satin, as if he were pouring the words into his ears, spilling them out all inside him, hot like molten copper; he was vaguely aware of the hands at his belt now, undoing his trousers. Vincent reclined the chair back until Brendan was leaning over him, staring down into a face that was on the one hand so familiar, yet so different; a face filled with such desire it made him ache, and he groaned when Vincent shoved a hand down his pants.

"See? I make you hard, too," Vincent purred. "Hmm? Tell me Bren, does your dick get hard thinking about me? Thinking about fucking me?"

God, did Vincent have any idea what the sound of his voice was doing to him - not to mention his hand, did he care? A soft, strangled noise escaped from deep in Brendan's throat as he nodded.

"Tell me, Brendan," Vincent pleaded, while placing soft kisses over Brendan's neck and collarbone, tightening his hand around his cock.

"Yes," Brendan gasped. "Yes, you make me… I want…"

"What?" Vincent whispered in his ear, "what do you want, Bren?" Vincent's tongue along the shell of his ear made him shiver and all thoughts were lost to him, much less words.

"Tell me. Tell me what you want?" He felt Vince's words, low in his chest, reverb, making his whole body vibrate, teetering just on the brink of losing it.

"Oh, god, Vince… I want you… I want you inside me."

"What, Brendan? You want my fingers inside you, my tongue, what?" Vincent pulled his hand from Brendan's pants to reach around and grab his ass, pushing up against him.

Brendan turned his head and kissed Vince, desperate and hot as he tried to answer between kisses. "Want…you… fuck… me… fuck me."

Vincent panted against Brendan's parted lips. "Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You want my dick deep in your ass? Is that what you want?" Vince asked, rocking their hips together, their cocks touching, and even through their clothes something metal-hot shot through Brendan. He whimpered and nodded, hoping that would be enough for Vince, because he didn't think he could form the words.

Vincent righted them in the chair and pushed Brendan off him. "Get undressed, I'll be right back."

Brendan was standing there in his boxers, waiting, blood still pounding in his ears, when Vincent returned - naked, carrying the little bottle of lube. He sat back down and tugged the boxers over Brendan's hips. Gripping warm, bare shoulders, Brendan groaned out his relief as Vincent took his cock into his mouth, swirling and working up and down over the length of him.

He looked up at Brendan. "Jesus, I've been waiting all day to do this," Vince said before going down on him again.

Brendan closed his eyes, let himself be surrounded by that volcanic heat. "Well, you better slow down or it's gonna be all over for me," he said, gently pushing Vincent back into the chair, and he sat back without argument, placed his arms on the armrests and smiled. His cock was stiff, standing at attention, and Brendan sank to his knees and licked it like a double-dip cone.

Vincent's cock was made for his mouth. He especially liked taking him while he was still kind of soft, feeling it grow and harden, working his tongue around, stroking him using just his lips, from base to tip, like he was now, sucking hard at the head. Vincent's face was drawn with desire, eyes closed, lips parted and Brendan thought this was what Vince was made for. The man exuded sex from every pore; it was in every inflection in his voice, every gleam in his eye or graceful movement of his body. That had been intimidating at first, but Vincent's responsiveness to him spoke of satisfaction and a mutual desire that Vincent had assured Brendan he filled.

Vincent opened his eyes, raked a hand through Brendan's hair and reached for the lube. "C'mere," he husked and Brendan climbed into his lap once again, where Vincent pulled him forward, slipped his hand between their bodies and ran a cold, slick finger up and across Brendan's puckered hole, teasing the silky, sensitive skin before pushing one and then another finger inside. Their lips locked together, Brendan tried to hold in his moans but couldn't.

"Don't... don't do that," Vincent breathed against him. "Let me hear what I'm doing to you, Bren. I want to hear you." Vincent twisted his fingers, making Brendan gasp and moan louder as he pushed back against his hand.

"You want another one?" Vincent's words were hot licks across Brendan's cheek. He nodded and held his breath as Vince spread his cheeks more. He anticipated the exquisite intrusion of yet another finger, stretching him, opening him, readying him and huffed against Vince's ear, breathing with the rhythm of his fingers - in and out and in and out - short, clipped movements that felt so good, so good, yet Brendan wanted more.

"Fuck me," he cried, not so much a sob as it was a ragged whisper.

Vincent looked at him, his eyes thin rings of blazing color surrounding dark, blown pupils, and shook his head. He pulled his fingers back carefully. "Un unh, you're gonna fuck me, fuck yourself on me," he said and handed Brendan the lube, his voice rough and full of need. "Get me ready."

Brendan worked the lube over Vincent's cock, slowly, deliberately, almost reverently. Vincent told him once he liked to watch him do this knowing he was about to get fucked, and while Brendan was still a little embarrassed by his own need, somehow he found it inexplicably hot that Vince enjoyed watching him. When he was satisfied and Vince was slick and ready, Brendan reached around and rubbed his coated fingers over his own entrance. Now, he was ready.

Vincent's eyes narrowed. He reclined them back in the chair and held his cock while Brendan lowered himself onto it, moving slowly, taking a little at a time, acclimating himself to the increasing pressure of Vincent filling him, and he prayed Vince wouldn't touch him, because one hand on his cock, just a light stroke and he'd come all over Vince. Finally, with Vincent whispering filthy encouragement, his ass met the cradle of Vincent's hips. When he was all the way down, Vincent bucked, inching in just a little more. The intensity of Vince so fully sheathed inside him took Brendan's breath.

He wanted to cry out, needed to gulp air, but not as much as he needed to move, needed Vincent to MOVE. When he didn't, Brendan leaned forward, slipping up on Vince's cock, offering him room. Vince took it. He thrust in again, pulled back and stopped - waiting. "Fuck me, Bren," he husked. The frayed edges of his moans filled the air as Brendan sat back, pulled forward, sat back, up down, in out, starting a rhythm.

The sound of Vincent, the look on his face, the way Vince's hands dug into his hips steeled Brendan even more. Soon Vincent began to thrust back, waiting for Brendan's descent, pushing up, meeting him halfway, their pacing flawless. Brendan squeezed his eyes shut, nothing else to focus on but the tiny white stars floating behind them, the aching of his cock, and the ever-increasing pressure as Vincent drove into him. All he wanted was to lose himself on Vincent's cock, that and nothing more Their rhythm continued to build until Brendan pushed himself up, shifting the angle of Vincent's entry.

The change was perfect and Brendan just needed to keep Vince's cock right there, there, there, fucking back on him faster and faster until the sound of his own voice tore through his brain. His eyes flew open as his orgasm ripped through him- so sharp, so sudden, head thrown back, fingers on the verge of piercing the tight skin of Vince's shoulders- his cock spurting hot across Vince's stomach and chest.

"Oh fuck! Bren..." Vince ground out, pumping harder, two, three more strokes and then he was coming too. Brendan bent to him, needing the closeness, feathering his face with kisses as he let Vince pant his way through the last of his spasms.

They might have stayed that way for hours if Brendan hadn't developed a wicked cramp in his thigh. He eased up and felt Vince slip out of him, then as deftly as he could manage, he backed out of the chair to walk off the cramp. When Brendan helped Vince from the chair, he looked as boneless as Brendan felt. He was surprised when Vince held him close, kissing him with a residual fervor that made his knees weak.

"Shower?" Vince offered, breaking the kiss, nosing across Brendan's cheek.

He nodded weakly and Vincent spun him around toward the hallway and sent him off with a pat on the ass. "I'll be right there; I'm just going to get the pasta started."

Brendan shuffled to the bathroom in a glorious post-orgasmic daze. Damn, if this was any indication of what the Christmas holiday was going to be like, he was going to have to find a way to avoid Freya the first couple of days back at work.


End file.
